


Mistakes

by scavengerscab



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scavengerscab/pseuds/scavengerscab
Summary: When Temari makes a sudden miscalculation, Shikamaru needed to think quick in order to save her.
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru & Temari, Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Kudos: 58





	Mistakes

It pained her to think that the man, whose eyes quivered with a silent suffering, had made such a brash decision: to jump in front of her like that, stealing the sacrifice of this damned mistake she so carelessly made. She blinked. The cold rain pelted hard against her face, but yet she felt hot. He let out a soft scoff then, disrupting the million thoughts that raced through her mind.

“For someone so tough,” he coughed, “you sure are a crybaby.”

Instinctively, Temari touched her cheeks to find a hot stream of tears coursing down her face. Suddenly, a cocktail of emotions began to rise up inside her. She knew damn well she was fully capable of compartmentalizing her emotions while out in the field, but everything happened so unexpectedly fast, she wasn’t able to properly process the mess that stood before her. What exact emotion she felt, she didn’t know nor could she comprehend. Was it anger? Was it sadness? Or was it just sheer confusion that had been built through the tense and awkward run-ins she’s had with Shikamaru over these past few months?

She tore her eyes away from his for a moment and immediately regretted her decision. Right along the middle of his torso poked out the tip of the blade that was supposedly meant for her, but was deeply mounted through the back of her trusted ally instead. A crack of thunder followed by a maniacal laugh snapped her back to the situation at hand. Shikamaru groaned in pain. Quickly, she helped him to his knees and burrowed him on his side in a small trench in the mud. As much as it pained her to leave him like this, she needed to prioritize what comes first: killing the fucker who did this to him.

“Oh man,” the enemy cackled. “Who would have fucking thought the Princess of Suna needed to be saved by some mere—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Temari whipped her steel fan, casting a strong gust of wind enough to redirect the rain and knock the enemy off his feet. Quicker than she thought her feet could carry, she rushed head on towards the enemy, yielding her fully out-stretched fan, with no intent to show any ounce of mercy. And within a blinding flash of lightning, they collided.

In between the exchanges of metal clashing against steel, Temari’s vision was clouded. What she saw in front of her was not the enemy. It was not the countless injured shinobi both from her platoon and the rival’s that littered a once open field, nor was it how the ground beneath their feet was now dirtied with mud and blood. It was his face. His face that she knew so well. His once lax and nonchalant expression that annoyed her to her very core was now replaced with one she never thought she’d had the misfortune to see: full of pain and (if she wasn’t delusional) unapologetic. The thought of him laying in his own pool of blood not so far from where she stood gave her the necessary fire she needed to ending the fight against her combatant.

Within half a second, she catches the enemy falter from his offense and knew that this was her final and only chance to avenging her friend and gaining victory of this death dance once and for all. Temari heaved her fan, now heavy in her hands, over her head and delivered her signature wind style jutsu. She felt the last of her chakra leave her body as she watched her wind slice through the enemy’s torso to the treetops at the end of the clearing. She watched her opponent stagger. A thin trail of blood ran down from the corner of his lips before he fell to his knees. And finally, dropped face first into the rain-soaked grass with a loud splash. Temari stood for a moment, feeling the cold rain bounce off her skin, her chest heaving as the rush of adrenaline faded. She slowly stepped closer to the fallen foe, flipped him over with a kick of her foot, and, for good measure, drove a kunai straight into his chest right on the spot above his heart.

This moment should have lifted a heavy weight off her shoulders. But as she stared into the lifeless eyes of her opposer, she was again reminded of the true tragedy lain in a trench not a ways away from her. Rushing over to where he lay, she wasted no time in starting her treatment. Slowly and with delicate but shaky hands, she began removing the blade from his back using her newly-learned medical ninjutsu to seal the exit wound in his torso. Watching the lame green cast of her chakra hovering over his body, she cursed at herself for tapping into her stored medical chakra during her final battle. Shikamaru winced. “Just hang in there,” she half-whispered. She paid no mind the amount of blood that pooled beneath her knees nor to the sounds of his labored breathing. She pushed away any thought of doubt and kept her focus on what little remained of her chakra to her friend that lay nearly lifeless before her.

“T-Temari…” Shikamaru sighed. “If I can’t—”

“Shut the fuck up, Nara! Don’t you dare die on me!” Feeling another stream of warm, fresh tears fall down her face, she refocused her mentality to use her chakra to at least stop the bleeding.

He left out a soft chuckle. “This is such a pain. Literally.” He winced once more as Temari pulled another inch of the blade from his back and pushed her chakra to cauterize his open wounds. “Temari,” he croaked again. “Did you get him?” She nodded. “Then mission success.”

She felt a sting form in the back of her eyes. “To hell with this fucking mission,” she whimpered. And to hell with my lack of better judgement, she thought to herself. How could she be so stupid? How could she be so careless? This mission turned out to be the complete opposite of what was expected, but it was her inability to remain level-headed, a factor completely out of her character, that resulted in the loss of lives and caused great injuries among her comrades. How could she atone for her egregious errors? If any one of her team mates survived, how can she even look at herself in the mirror or face people of both Suna and Konoha knowing her incompetency and inadequate leadership skills fell short of her accomplished surname that she fought to live up to?

“Do me one last favor,” he weakly voiced.

“I SAID DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE,” she snapped, surprised at the strength that her pent up self-anger brought upon. She shot a glance up to his face and was met with a smug smirk she knew all too well. His face, although pale and pallid, was back to that lax expression she was so familiar with. And although it felt selfish, she sought comfort in that sly smile knowing the man she knew for a long time now has reserved that one just for her. “You’re coming back home with me, Nara. Just please,” her voice shook, “hang in there.”

Shikamaru slightly upturned his lips as he bore his lazy gaze directly into hers. Gradually, his eyelids fluttered as his vision turned from a blurry mess of blonde and gray to pitch black.

A faint but steady beeping flowing in and out of his ears was enough grasp to awaken his stream of consciousness. The crust that formed between his eyes gave a slight resistance, but he broke through, opening them to the welcoming sight of familiar white walls and white sheets. He deeply inhaled with great relief, feeling oddly satisfied by the scent of disinfectant that wafted through the Konoha hospital walls. Shikamaru turned his head sideways and winced at the sun rays that shone through the curtains. From the streaks of creamsicle that peaked between the pane and cotton, he couldn’t discern whether it was sun rise or sunset.

This is such a drag but, he thought to himself, how did I even get here? Although his head slightly hurt, he forced himself to recollect what he last remembered to get a better sense of the events that happened that led him lain on this concrete bed: the B-rank assignment… The ambush… Reinforcements came too late…Temari… TEMARI!! He shot up suddenly, a mistake for a sharp pain ran along his spine and caused him to enter a coughing frenzy. He dry-coughed into his palm and, to his horror, was met with little red spots freshly settled between the creases of his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he was such in great pain. His head throbbed harshly now and he realized that his throat was sore too. Reaching over to the small plastic cup that sat atop the bedside table, he downed the warm water to its last drop.

Temari.

Temari.

That’s all he could think about. Little snippets of Temari flooded his mind and, for a moment, subsided some of his physical pain. Temari. But was she okay? Was she alive? Temari. Where is she? Is she even in the village? Temari. Feeling anxious to find the answers to all his doubts and what-ifs, he made the reckless decision of getting up and getting out of this damned room. Attempting to self-assess his physical capabilities, he wiggled his toes and then lightly tapped his fingers onto the surface of the bed. He then bended his knees and rolled his shoulders. Tossing the blanket aside, he slowly got up, ignoring any and all pain that shot through his body. He didn’t care about his fragile state; he needed to know where she was. He needed to know whether she was still alive.

Dragging his feet, he attempted to make his way toward the foot of the bed when suddenly the door flew open. And there she stood. Underneath the threshold. Wearing a scowl and her hospital uniform.

“T-Tem-Temari?” he stuttered half in relief, half in fear. Her thick, blonde hair was pulled back in a single high ponytail instead of her usual two. He studied her frame: long slender legs, slim waist, seemingly delicate arms. Feeling some sense of entitlement to drink her in, he let his eyes linger at her curvaceous bodice a moment too long. With her heels lightly tapping against ceramic tiles, she walked towards him. The way her white scrub skirt hugged her hips as they sashayed made him second guess whether he was even alive or not; whether this was a sight granted to only him as entry into the afterlife.

“And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Her malicious tone snapped him out of his daydream. No, he definitely wasn’t dead. This is real life.

By the irate expression plastered on her face, his next words needed to be chosen carefully or else he’ll be facing whatever actually awaits in the hereafter. “G-guh…” was all he managed to choke.

Temari’s brows furrowed deeper as she looked him up and down, regarding his pathetic stance: resting all his weight on the left side of his body as he braced himself on the bedrails, right arm lazily hung in front of his midriff. “I didn’t discharge you.” She raised a hand to her hip. “Sit back down. I need to perform a routine check up.”

“Now will you tell me how this all happened?” With careful eyes, Shikamaru watched as Temari scribbled down some indiscernible words onto a small notepad.

Lifting the back of his shirt, she softly pressed two fingers along the scars down his spine. The touch of her skin against his made Shikamaru shiver. “Sore?” Temari asked quietly.

“No,” he lied.

“First,” she finally responded, her eyes not meeting his, “I need you to tell me what you know. What’s the last thing you remember?” She then stalked over to one of the bedside tables, opened the top drawer, ripped open a small plastic packet, and shoved a disposable thermometer into his mouth.

Taking a slow inhale, he started, “What a drag.” But he continued on as Temari rolled her eyes in impatience. “I remembered Kakashi assigning us a B-rank mission. Neither of us were supposed to go, but since a lot of shinobi were relieved from active service after the war, we were short-staffed.” Temari nodded, her pen moving frantically as she listened. “What was supposed to be a B-rank mission turned into an S-rank after we realized it was Makoto who pulled the strings behind the scenes. Our four-man cell ended up cornering him but he had reinforcements of about fifty, and a possible fifty more on the way. Our backup came too late, but it didn’t matter because we were severely outnumbered anyway.” Shikamaru paused as Temari removed the thermometer and jotted more notes onto the next page of her notepad. “It gets hazy here, but…” he trailed. “I just remember seeing you. And then everything went black.”

Finally, Temari met his eyes. Her scowl, which she once wore barely a moment before has now disappeared and taken in its place was what seemed to be heartache and sorrow. Reverting back to a stoic countenance, she cleared her throat before speaking, “Yes, for the most part, everything you recalled was fairly accurate.” A feeling of shame and humiliation suddenly washed over her and she tore her gaze away from his. She glanced down, watching her fingers fumble. “But, um, regarding what happened afterwards…” Temari took in a deep sigh. She knew the time would come eventually. But no amount of mental preparation could ready her for this moment right here: to relive the dreaded scene where his life was nearly lost at the fault of her hands.

She felt a pang somewhere deep in her chest and a slow burn began forming at the back of her eyes. Foul thoughts which she fought so hard to suppress the entire time he was in his coma unleashed itself without permission or warning. She did not want to admit to anything— not to him at least. She did not want to admit that her impaired judgement was because she clumsily let go of the shinobi conduct she adhered to too well just by being paired up to undergo a mission with him. Him of all people. She did not want to admit that the characteristics that made her human was the reason his existence was almost unjustly stolen from this world.

Shikamaru remained silent, surveying her with steady eyes.

She slumped her shoulders and sighed once more. “I made a drastic miscalculation that put me right under Makoto’s crosshairs. You ended up here because of me. I don’t know what you were thinking, or if you were at all, but…” She turned away then, not having the courage to look face him. “You guarded me.”

Everything that happened during their mission began flooding back into his memory now and Shikamaru began picturing the final the moments before black took over. Yes, he remembered seeing Temari right in the line of fire under Makoto’s stolen blade. He knew his shadow jutsu would never make it in time and without thinking, sprung himself a mere few inches from Temari, shielding her from the attack. The sudden remembrance of the initial feeling of steel ripping through his torso flared up a burning pain he didn’t realize he was ignoring.

He did not dare shed a tear in front of her. He couldn’t. By the look in her eyes, he knew that she’s been shouldering some kind of guilt or pain by all this. He had to admit, he made some mistakes too. “How long has it been?” If Temari hadn’t been anxiously anticipating for a response, his voice would have inaudible.

“Two weeks.”

“Was the mission successful?”

“Yes.”

An antagonizing silence hung in the air. A frequent visitor, Shikamaru was well aware of how spacious these hospital rooms can lend itself. But sitting there, unable to detect what or where exactly the source of immense pain stemmed from, he felt suffocated. His heart, his head, his chest, his spine hurt all the more. And suddenly the room seemed just too small, even if he was alone.

But he wasn’t alone. Temari was with him. Temari was here. She was here. Mistakes and miscalculations aside, their mission was successful. They were alive. But more importantly, she was alive. The idea of even just seeing her for one more day was enough to sing praise to all nonexistent deities regardless if it resulted in him without arms or legs. Just as long as it was her standing at the foot of the bed, he didn’t mind.

“I’m due for gratitude.” A small smirk crept up his lips.

Temari scoffed, “Excuse me?”

“Who treated me?”

“I did.” She eyed him suspiciously, trying to seize any hints of his intentions.

“Then because of you, Temari, my skin is still intact and not rotting into fertilizer.” He softly chuckled. “I was never one to to think you’d dabble in medical ninjutsu but here you are. Only someone of your skill and thoroughness cou—”

Temari snapped and Shikamaru instantly recognized her all too familiar temper. Daunting as she was, he felt at ease knowing the woman who stood before him was just the same as ever. It was a familiar he so desperately needed in his state of intense discomfort. “Shove it with the niceties, Nara!” she barked. “Your surgery took sixteen hours and nearly drained me! With all the risks, I could have missed something or made a mistake!”

“You didn’t.”

Annoyance rose in her voice, “And how could you be so fucking sure?”

“Because I know you.”

Taken aback by his unexpected flattery, Temari lost some feeling in her knees and stumbled a few steps back. His words rang through like a mantra in her head: I know you. I know you. I know you. Confused, exasperated, and angry at his audacity, she pulled out a different notepad from her side pocket.

“Under my orders,” she began with a serious tone, “you will be temporarily relieved from duty for at least two weeks. Upon these two weeks, no intense training, no lifting of items above twenty pounds. Just stray away from any physical activity that may result in the reopening of your wounds. You will be allowed to leave once your fever has gone down. I give it about another day or two at the very least.” Shikamaru nodded. And before he could say anything, Temari continued, “Also, I will be prescribing pain relievers. Strong ones. It will leave you drows—”

“I don’t need them,” he interrupted her.

Raising her eyebrow, Temari grew vexed once more at his audacity. “And what gives you the authority to say so?”

“It’s my body. And I told you, I don’t feel any pa—”

“I know you.” This time it was Temari who smirked.

Shikamaru was not a man to complain about orders that relied on him doing nothing all day, let alone for two weeks. But even as he convinced himself that this was the vacation he needed, he began feeling a bit restless after the third day. He followed Temari’s instructions exactly as she had laid them out. He did not train. He did not lift any objects over twenty pounds. And he took his medication three times a day. But as troublesome as it was to keep up a routine far from his usual, he never doubted her. He had full confidence she knew what she was doing, and that was enough for him to do exactly as she ordered. That, and if she found out he had not been doing what he was told, he’d have gone deaf to her incessant nagging.

But if he was being honest with himself, the two weeks turned out to be more of a drag than he had expected. Some days, he spent time at Ino’s flower shop, attempting his hand at floral arrangements. But after a few squandered flowers and wasted yards of cellophane, Ino decided that it was just best for both parties and the reputation of her family’s business that Shikamaru just man the register. Yet even then, his customer service lacked. Other days, he spent time laying underneath the corroborated tin roof of Choji’s den as his friend trained in the Akimichi’s vast backyard smashing rocks. And although he had a distaste for the cacophonous noise that comes with rearranging the terrain, Shikamaru was appreciative and always looked forward to the lunch prepared by Choji’s mother every time he came by. But most days, however, Shikamaru spent a great chunk of late afternoons lying in his family’s backyard, picking at grass and watching the clouds roll by. An occasional visitor would attempt to play a game or two of shogi, but for the most part, shogi without a competent opponent was very enjoyable.

It was during those moments where he lay alone on his yard, watching clouds drift by, that he finds his mind wandering. That troublesome woman. He hasn’t seen her since he left the hospital, nor did she come to see how he was doing. But he would be lying to himself if he said he hasn’t thought about her at least once. In fact, she was all he could think about.

At the first sight of morning specks that filtered in through his bedroom window, he thought of how sunsets danced along her irises, deepening her cerulean. At the first touch of hot showers, he lavished at how warm her honey-like giggles swirled through his ears and down along his spine. At the initial scent of evening dew, he remembered how her clothes clung to her body like a second skin while she stood silent and still in the rain. She haunted him, even in his dreams. At night, his unconscious would conjure up images of her he had no business of having: her slender fingers running down his chest, his hands caressing the thick of her thighs, his lips kissing the shadows that lay in the contours of her neck. Some nights, he’ll dream of her lips brushing against his ears as she whispered his name. And these were the nights he’d wake up panting, cursing that the left side of his bed was empty.

As the two weeks slowly came to an end, Shikamaru felt the itch of actually doing something instead of nothing. Even burying his nose deep into stacks of paperwork was more fun than creating bald spots in his backyard. He got up early on Monday, donned on his usual attire, and headed straight to the Hokage’s tower. Passing through the hallways, he was greeted by familiar faces, welcoming his comeback.

“WHAT?” Shikamaru stared in disbelief at the half-covered face of the Hokage. He was not one to raise his voice but couldn’t help himself as he heard Kakashi’s words.

Awkward and at a loss for words, Kakashi pulled out a medical report from under a pile of mess that lay atop his desk. “Yeah, it says right here: ‘Upon doctor’s orders, Nara Shikamaru shall be removed from active duty for a minimum of four weeks after employee has been discharged from hospital.’”

Shikamaru’s face blossomed into several shades of red. “Kakashi-sama,” he pleaded, “I can’t last another two weeks doing nothing. You know as well as I that I have much to catch up on. Here. Besides, she told me two weeks. Two!” He held up two fingers in front of his boss’s face.

“Ah, it seems to have been a misunderstanding then…”

Shikamaru sighed in relief, “Yes, a misunder—”

“I guess she never told you about the latter.” Kakashi read off the medical report once more. “Two weeks for physical recovery, another two for your ‘mental instability.’”

“WHAT?!” Shikamaru could not comprehend his anger right now. More so, he refused to comprehend even an ounce of thought that ran through that thick skull of hers for writing up such a wretched notation. “Mental instability?” That damn woman! he thought. The blatant disrespect, the faulty judgment of his character, and the unjustifiable atrocity that this woman showed no mercy in displaying, and to his superior for that matter, was far worst than that Makoto’s blade slicing him in half. “What is this ‘mental instability’ is she talking about?”

“Well…” Kakashi trailed. “You know I think highly of you. Not just you, actually, but your entire clan. And to be completely honest, ever since your coma four weeks ago, this place has been chaos among chaos. I’ve been anticipating for my trusted advisor to come back.” Kakashi took a final glance at the medical report. “But…”

“For crying out loud,” Shikamaru scoffed, exasperated.

The Hokage sighed and stood up from his chair. “You have to admit, Shikamaru, that you completely acted out of character.” Shikamaru’s head shook in disagreement. Making his way around his desk, Kakashi gently placed a hand on his advisor’s shoulder. “Your entire reputation revolves on your strategery and analytical skills. Jumping in front of Temari, putting yourself in danger like that…”

“Kakashi-sama.”

“I understand that you’ve suffered great losses from the war. And I understand that suddenly taking on the position as my advisor has been detrimental to your mental health. And I admit it was noble of you to protect your comrade. But while I agree that calling this a ‘mental instability’ is a bit severe, it doesn’t take away from the truth in Temari’s assessment.”

Shikamaru looked down at his feet. He didn’t have the heart to look up to Kakashi’s face in fear that he’ll show any indication that Kakashi was in the right. But Kakashi was, in fact, right. Just like many shinobis, Shikamaru suffered many losses, but it wasn’t like he was reckless either. He spent the necessary time mourning and even opened to some people about his grievances. He took time off when he needed to. And dropped off flowers and cigarettes to familiar tombstones. He knew what he was doing. And right now, Shikamaru knew that what he needed to do was get back into the swing of things that lay rest in his own mess of an office next door. As hesitant as he was to admit, this feeling of not being in control about what he can and can’t do is infuriating. And what more being controlled by Temari. What this woman was doing to him— no, what he allowed this woman to do to him was beyond anything he dared to assume.

“I do also take responsibility for this,” Kakashi carried on. “I may have overworked you and for that, I sincerely apologize. But one of the many reasons why I value you is because of that powerhouse of a brain you have in there.” Kakashi made a point to tap a finger along his temple before continuing. “Your ability to think clearly and remain level-headed even in the most pressing situations has granted a lot of success to, well, me functioning in this office.” Shikamaru could hear all of Kakashi’s words flow in and out of his ears, but he wasn’t listening. “Shikamaru,” Kakashi piped, “look at me.” Reluctantly, Shikamaru raised his head to meet the eyes of his Hokage. “Do you realize,” Kakashi approached with a cautious tone, “that you’re shaking, possibly from emotions alone?”

Shocked at the words, he hadn’t realize he was even trembling. Why he was trembling, he didn’t know. Indignation perhaps? Pain killers wearing thin?

Kakashi’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Do you now understand why I think you need these extra two weeks?”

The last hour of her shift was spent daydreaming about her home back in Suna. Although a sudden change in weather and scenery was nice, Temari found that she missed the sandcastle buildings and the feeling of hot sand course through her hair more than she cared to admit. She understood how people from other lands can view the desert as daunting and unpredictable with its sudden sandstorms, visible heat waves, and the stereotypical tumbleweed. But what people failed to realize, she assumed, was that even with its fearsome stigma, there was beauty in the way the desert blooms cactus flowers and how cool and crisp the air smells just before the sun settles.

But what Temari missed the most was her brothers. Yes, they’ve gone through several rough patches in their childhood, but growing up with no one else to lean on but themselves has the trio stuck to each other like glue. She thought of her baby brother Gaara, and how his appointment as Kazekage was more of a special blessing to their family and not just the whole village. She was a woman seldom to cry, especially in the public eye, but she could not help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment seeing Gaara metamorphose himself into a world of light. Her mind drifted then to Kankurou. Although she was the eldest, Kankurou was always her safety net. Her rock to lean on. Whenever things in office or in life go awry, Kankurou always knew what to do. All stereotypes of what the middle child is supposed to be like fell short on Kankurou because he truly was the string that tied their family together. With all these feelings of sentiment, she slightly regretted never expressing them to her family. But she knew well in her heart that she didn’t need to, for they understood each other without the use of words.

A series of staccato beeps reminded her of where her feet were currently grounded: in a Konoha hospital room. It pained her to leave her home, to leave her brothers. But for her brothers and for her home was the reason why, eight months ago, she wrapped her obi extra tight around her waist, replaced the steel framing of her fan, and made way to re-home herself in Konohagakure: to learn all she can about medical ninjutsu and bring those skills and information to improve and refine her village’s poor shinobi healthcare system. Her eyes welled with tears as a memory her brothers’ faces, near death, flashed before her. Not again, she thought. Never again as long as I can help it.

“Thank you for your hard work today, Temari-san,” the clerk called out as Temari left through the front doors. Temari smiled sweetly and waved a short goodbye. Normally, hospital staff weren’t supposed to leave through the public entrance. But since it was 3am and there weren’t many people flooded in the waiting room (an extremely rare occurrence), Temari couldn’t be bothered to exit through the back employee entrance where dumpster cats try to claw at your feet to incite fear that this particular dumpster was not up for grabs.

Realizing that tomorrow was her day off, she took the long way back to her home away from home. She took the liberty of counting the streetlights until she reached the recognizable lopsided roof of her apartment building: 23. She sighed in relief as she began climbing the stairwell to the fifth floor where her warm bed and oversized cactus plushie await her return. As she reached the top of the stairs, a flicker of dusty orange stopped her dead in her tracks.

She stared at his lazy figure: right hand half-hung in his pant pocket, one knee bent, back slumped against her front door. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, igniting the small ash at the end of the stick, and she watched as his lips slightly rounded as he leisurely puffed out smoke. He hasn’t turned his head her way yet but she knew he had already sensed her chakra the moment she stepped foot on the first step. She then realized this was the first time she’d seen him since he left the hospital. A strange nervousness welled in her stomach as she quietly made her way towards him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure at this ungodly hour?”

With half his cigarette idly resting on his lips, he grew his mouth into a sly smirk. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you in any pain?” A tinge of sincere concern lied in her tone.

Shikamaru threw the bud of his cigarette onto the concrete floor and stomped out the ash with a manner that seemed too aggressive for a man of his stature. It was then she noticed the dark rings underneath this eyes. “We need to talk,” he demanded.

She raised her eyebrow at his unusual boldness. “And this couldn’t wait the sun’s up?”

“No.”

It wasn’t until he stood at the entrance of her front hallway that this was his first time being inside Temari’s apartment. Although simple, the overall theme of her decor revolved around desert memorabilia. Along her windowsills were small pots and metal trays of a cacti variety, while air plants hung at the some corners of her shelves and ceilings. A glass fishbowl with several layers of rocks and soil underneath a succulent display was her coffee table centerpiece. Framed photos of people from Suna, a lot of whom he did not recognize, littered her walls.

“Sentimental much?” he asked as he gawked at one particular frame. It was of her, Gaara, and Kankurou in their childhood. None of the three seemed to be smiling, nor did they look like they appreciated their photo being taken. But still, he couldn’t help but chuckle at a chubby-cheeked, round-eyed Temari.

“When you’re done invading my privacy, care to explain why you’re here?” Her tone was cross and grim, but she was anything but. She grew shy at how he leaned in for a better view of the only photo she had of her and her brothers during their younger years. It was a photo that was usually kept in the family living room back at Suna, but when she made the decision to move, Gaara had asked her if she wanted to take it. At the time, she didn’t know why the offer was made but was glad to. The photo has now grown into an intimate memento of her family, back when days were simpler but times were not. But as Shikamaru softly chuckled at what seemed to be at her plump face, she reddened, realizing that he was the only person not from Suna, or her family for that matter, to have seen this photo.

Shikamaru turned around and faced her with deadpanned eyes. She took note of how the moonlit shadows framed his face, accentuating his sharp features, and caught herself mid-drool. His eyes glowed underneath the cool grey of her apartment, his hair glistening with a streak of twilight. With no resistance, her gaze trailed down his body. He was skinny, yet she knew that underneath the nylon layers of his vest lie toned muscles and creamy skin. He was tall and lanky, physical attributes that Temari never found herself to like on anyone, much less a man. But his lean body clung to his clothes so well, she almost wished it was her hands that wrapped around his waist.

“Mental instability?”

She shot him a dazed look. “What?”

He lowered his head as he stared directly into her eyes, showing no trace of emotion or intention. Temari felt her shoulders shiver a little. She wasn’t sure if this side of his persona was a norm, but nonetheless, it was a side of Shikamaru she has never seen before: frightening and bold. “You told,” his voice dark as he stepped forward, “Kakashi that I was incapable of doing my job?” He was standing right in front of her now, close enough for her to smell the cigarette smoke that lingered on his vest.

His clothes. She realized just then what he was wearing: mesh garments, long sleeve turtle neck, army green flak jacket. He’s not supposed to be back on duty, she thought. Temari swallowed. “I never said that.”

“Oh really?”

“It was never a question whether you were incapable of doing your job or not.”

Shikamaru ran a palm over the crown of his head, stopping right where his hand met the base of his ponytail. He sighed. “Then wha—”

“It was a question of your competency.”

A sudden fire appeared in Temari’s eyes and she wore her signature scowl that showed she meant business. Shikamaru knew that this woman was not going to back down easily, but it was not like she typically one to do so anyway. “My competency?” he scoffed. “Well fuck, Temari, enlighten me!”

“Tch,” she hissed. Whatever fatigue and exhaustion she felt before, it was no longer there. She ignored all the heaviness that weighed down her knees and held her ground firmly, refusing to move away from him. From what she tried to uphold, whoever created a distance between them first was the one losing this conversation. “I should be asking you that, Nara!”

A smirk crept up his face as his gaze darken, but it wasn’t from humor or playfulness. He let out a small but incredulous chuckle. “What the fuck are you talking about now, woman?”

Temari threw her hands ups in fury. “Do we have to replay that night again, Shikamaru? How you just jumped in front of me out of the blue?” Shikamaru faltered half a step back and Temari knew she had the upper hand on this.

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” he blinked.

“Thanking you? Thank you?!” It was now Temari’s turn to be in a state of disbelief. “I saved your fucking life and it should be me thanking you?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Shikamaru turned and sauntered toward the childhood photograph again. His head was low and his right hand moved in an up-and-down motion, ruffling the hair just below his ponytail.

For a moment, Temari stood still in a trance. A well of emotions bubbled somewhere inside her that she didn’t know how to process the view that stood before her eyes. The man who riled her up to her very core with vexation, the one who cuts her patience so thin it snaps, was here, in her apartment, staring at an old photograph no one else outside of her Suna home had seen. For a moment, she thought how much she’d love to let his hair down and run her fingers through. For a moment, she thought. “If you think coming here in the middle of the fucking night is going to change my mind about your active status, you’ve got another thing coming.” Her voice was a bit more harsh than she had intended but it was a bit too late to simmer down now. “Or better yet, maybe I’ll extend your relief seeing as your sharpness has obviously declined since you left the hospital.”

That stung. “Who are you to tell me how to do my job?” he spat.

“And who the hell are you to tell me to do mine?” Temari closed the space between them and placed two fingers at the end of his collarbone, tapping it with malice. “You don’t get a say in when or how long you recover when you were the one splayed out on my operating table half alive!”

“Ugh, you’re so damn troublesome!”

A pause hung in the air as the two stared at each other, both trying to level their breathing. This time, it was Temari who walked away. She felt a small tear escape down her left cheek and wiped it away quickly before Shikamaru saw. She now stood at the opposite of the room where his shadow spread across the bare wall in front of her. “What the fuck were you thinking?” she whispered. Temari watched as Shikamaru’s dark outline gradually grew and before his whole figure morphed into a shapeless silhouette, she felt his breath tingle the back of her neck.

“I was thinking I should save your life!” he barked.

“NO!” Temari turned around now, not caring if he saw her cheeks glisten with unwarranted tears. “You’re the strategy guy! You should have thought of a strategy!”

“That was my strategy!”

“Why’d you do it!”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“I’m not yours to protect!”

“Dammit, Temari!” Shikamaru was not one to raise his voice, nor was he one to show his frustration. But as he felt a small prickling pain shot at the base of his wrist, he realized he had just slammed his palm a couple inches away from Temari’s left ear. The gap between them closed incredibly that he was now close enough to feel the shiver of her breath brush against his lips. She was shaking now. Hot tears helplessly streamed down her face as she stared back at his dark eyes, a scowl still plastered on her face.

A sudden flashback waved over him as he watched a tear slide down her cheek. He knew well that Temari was not a woman to show vulnerabilities, but he has seen this scene before: this moment parallel to the moment he hovered over her in the rain, mounted on his back a blade. Looking at her now, he shared the same feelings he did as he watched her in the last few moments before he grew unconscious. Temari was crying. And such a sad sight lit a burning pain in his chest, a pain so close to heartbreak all because he knew the cause of pain was none other than himself. He wanted the same thing as he did back then in the muddy trench, to pull her close, wipe her tears away, and tell her that everything was going to be okay, that he was going to make everything okay. His shoulders softened. This moment was his second chance to fix things and make sure that everything turns out fine.

Embarrassed at his sudden act of ferocity, he lowered his hand. “I-I’m sorry. I—”

“Do you know,” she began, her voice wavering, “the guilt I’ve been harboring the moment you shielded me from that the attack?” She dropped her face in her hands and her shoulders trembled vigorously now as her sobs grew audible. “It should have been me,” she gasped in between words. “It should have been me!” Attempting to pathetically wipe her tears away, she glared back at him again. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about your stupid face! Your surgery took sixteen hours! It took a miracle to even stabilize you! Your temperature kept spiking and then dropping and then spiking. I lost your heartbeat twice. Your body nearly rejected my chakra. I didn’t…” She shook her head. “I couldn’t…”

He was motionless. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. She sucked in a sharp and shaky breath as her gaze dropped to the floor. In a soft voice, she continued, “If I lost you, it would have been my fault. Why did you… How could you…”

Instinctively, he reached up to tuck a wet strand of hair that clung to her temples. She slapped his hand away and the fire in her eyes ignited once more. “WHY, SHIKAMARU, WHY?”

“Are you telling me you don’t know?”

“Fucking answer me!”

“You’re more dense than I thought,” he spat.

“Is it because I’m a woman? That you think I can’t hold my own?”

“What!” His eyes widened once again at her misjudgment of his character.

“Or is it that you wanted to fucking play hero! That sacrificing oneself over a damsel was noble and just— a man’s job!”

“Of course not!”

“THEN WHY?”

“Because I’m in love with you, Temari!”

His words echoed throughout the apartment. It bounced off the walls, up the ceiling, and down the floor, ringing through their ears like a haunting mantra. The two stood for what seemed like an eternity, facing each other, but not looking at one another. Instead, their gaze were fixed on the walls behind the other’s shoulder; her’s planted on the adolescent photo, his on his dark contour not a foot away.

Shikamaru gulped. “My shadow was weak. I couldn’t extend it fast enough or far enough to where you were. But it didn’t matter anyway.” He stole a glance at her face to find fresh tears still staining her cheeks. “You’re right, I am the strategy guy,” he sighed, “but in that moment, I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t think. All I could do was react. I saw how straight his blade was advancing directly towards you and I knew you were stuck. I knew you couldn’t move. But I could. So I did the only thing I could do.”

He locked his pointer finger underneath her chin and gently lifted her head so that they were looking at each other once again. “You’re not the only one who’s suffered, Temari. I kept replaying that moment in my head too. But unlike you, I don’t wish it to happen differently.” He stroked a teardrop away before continuing. “Fuck, I’d go through the exact thing again and again, and live through the pain tenfold again and again if it means I get to keep you here.”

None of them knew how long they stayed that way, locked by each other’s gaze, nor who initiated first. What did they did know was that the longing, the yearning, and the ache they felt in their bones that neither of them were aware of had now subsided the moment their lips pressed against one another’s. A sweet exchange of soft moans and labored breathing bonded the two together in a way that was so treacherous but fulfilling, satiating all their harbored frustrations. A bitter smoke, a taste of strawberry gloss, beads of sweat, warmth pressed against warmth: the two found themselves swimming in their heightened senses. Overjoyed and electric: a never before. Temari tore off his vest. Shikamaru unbuttoned her scrub top. She lifted the hem of his long sleeve and he tore it off his body for her.

Peppering kisses down the side of her neck, he whispered something in her ear, a request she could faintly make out. “Don’t speak,” she gasped as his tongue grazed the spot just below her ear, “just do it.”

He lifted her and she found that her intuition wrapped her legs around his hips as he pressed her back against the wall. His face now planted at the forefront of her chest, softly sucking at the tender skin. She groaned, melting at his touch, and began moving her hips. Slowly, she trailed her hands down his back, running her fingers over scarred skin, and back up to where she finally ran her fingers through his hair. The sound of soft metal unzipping and the tearing of thin fabric filled the space, surrounding them in delicious harmony. They both languished at the shared vulnerability but lavished at how freeing and thirst-quenching it felt to finally be together. Like this. Her skin, her hands, so soft and tender while his crude yet charismatic. He grew intoxicated by the aroma of her hair while she surrendered to the dizzying smell of smoke.

Soft voices. Even softer touches. Within each other, they both found a solace that could simmer away the mistakes and miscalculations they made. Whether they were right or wrong, neither cared. Right here, hooked against each other, his gentle thrusts promoting a flurry of sweet nothings, this moment, and all else that will follow afterward, was worth any sacrifice. As both reached the peak of their thrill, they’ve grown to understand what they’ve been trying to say all along, something words can never truly capture: he loved her and she him. They always did.


End file.
